


Nightmares

by mygreatestjoyandprivilege



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Sharing a Bed, look at what they do to me, lots of crying and hugging tbh, these fucking idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 16:59:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1435966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mygreatestjoyandprivilege/pseuds/mygreatestjoyandprivilege
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John insists on being Sherlock's personal doctor when he is finally released from the hospital, still recovering from his gunshot wound. The nightmares that arise each night in Sherlock's fitful sleep turn out to be more than John bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> Just a clarification for when this fic is exactly happening: This is what I would like to imagine happened off-screen between when Sherlock was released from the hospital and when we saw everyone at Christmas dinner at the Holmes house. John took care of Sherlock, of course, (because who else would take care of this big baby?) and also moved back in to 221B temporarily to both blow off steam from Mary and take care of Sherlock at the same time.
> 
> (As always, any comments/feedback are appreciated!!)

Sherlock woke up screaming John’s name.

His body was completely drenched in a cold sweat and he was shaking and thrashing in his bed when he finally opened his eyes. All he could remember seeing was Mary in her wedding dress, holding a gun up to him. She said, “I didn’t think you’d be this slow,” before pulling the trigger. As soon as the bullet hit his chest, he was upright in bed.

Sherlock didn’t even realize he was even screaming “John!” in a desperate voice over and over until his bedroom door burst open and John flicked on the light. He was breathing heavily, no doubt having just run all the way down the stairs from his room, wearing nothing but his pajama bottoms and a light cotton t-shirt.

“Sherlock what’s wrong?” he managed, immediately sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching for him. He placed a comforting, calm hand on the side of Sherlock’s bare arm to help soothe his shaking body.

Sherlock’s heart rate was finally slowing down and he tried to take deep, soothing breaths in an attempt to calm himself down.

“Nightmare,” he panted.

“Another one?” John said softly. He dropped his hand, letting it fall onto the bed next to Sherlock.

Sherlock nodded, avoiding John’s eyes.

After a moment, John motioned for Sherlock to offer him his wrist (which he did obediently) so John could check his pulse. He dropped Sherlock’s arm then scooted closer to him to place a hand on his forehead to estimate his temperature. He sighed.

“Just take some deep breaths like I taught you. You’ll be alright. I’ll go get you some water.”

Sherlock didn’t respond. He took the soft material of the sheets in his hands and absentmindedly ran it between his fingers.

John returned a minute later with a cold glass of water, which he handed to Sherlock.

“Thanks,” Sherlock mumbled in response.

For a moment they just sat there in silence, letting the room speak for them.

After John had learned the truth about his lying wife, he was a broken man. He refused to live with Mary again until he had calmed down from the whole ordeal, which he was uncertain would ever happen. And Sherlock was more than happy to offer John his old room back for as long as he wanted to stay and move his chair back to its proper place downstairs.

John felt personally responsible for Sherlock’s gunshot injury, and as soon as he was released from the hospital and allowed to go home, he insisted on being Sherlock’s personal doctor. He changed his bandages, made sure he was eating enough and drinking enough water, and monitored him as much as he could. He was taking some time off from the surgery as well, which allowed him to be at Sherlock’s side almost constantly.

Sherlock didn’t mind that John was so willing to care for him in this way, but he also wanted him to talk to Mary. Sherlock didn’t trust her fully and doubted he ever would—it was difficult to put your faith and trust in someone who almost killed you, regardless if she was married to your best friend or not—but he knew John would never be right again if he didn’t talk things out with Mary properly.

He never brought this up, of course. John had a purpose, caring for Sherlock, and as long as he had that, Sherlock tried not to worry too much about him. The Watsons would eventually have to kiss and make up, but for now the space was probably a good thing, in Sherlock’s opinion.

One thing Sherlock had noticed is that despite John’s anger at the world and his loss of trust in everyone around him, he still treated Sherlock exactly the same way. That fateful night in 221B where he learned the truth about Mary, he had been angry, of course, but he was angry at everyone then, especially himself.

But once Sherlock was released from the hospital, it was John who was there to pick him up and take him to Baker Street. John was immediately by Sherlock’s side as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, that his best friend had just gotten shot and he was taking care of him. He was extremely protective of Sherlock as well, so much so that he wouldn’t even let Mrs. Hudson in most of the time when Sherlock was recovering.

And for this, Sherlock was eternally grateful. No one in the world would be doing this for him but John. Well, Molly might, but Sherlock wouldn’t dare use her in that way. He did have a heart, after all.

So as the days and weeks passed, John took care of Sherlock. He did everything for him and did it all in the most professional, doctor-like manner that Sherlock really began to improve quickly.

Except for the nightmares. No matter how much John wanted to, he couldn’t save Sherlock from those.

Sometimes they would be different, but usually they always involved Mary shooting him, or Mary shooting him while John watched, and each time he would wake up sweating and thrashing in the sheets. He didn’t always yell for John (and he certainly wasn’t aware of it when he did) but on the particularly bad ones, he always did.

And John always came. Even if it was 3am, even if it was the middle of the day and he practically spilled his tea to run down the hall to Sherlock’s room, he always came when he called.

But each time he came, Sherlock didn’t know what to say. John was happy to sit in silence with Sherlock until he decided he could try to go back to sleep, but Sherlock always felt uncomfortable, like there was so much being unsaid between them.

John was and always had been oblivious to Sherlock’s feelings towards him, feelings that had only come to Sherlock’s attention fairly recently. He knew it was unlikely that John felt the same way, especially since Sherlock recognized how much he loved and cared for Mary, but it didn’t stop him from pining after John pathetically. He knew it was useless and he shouldn’t think that just because John was taking care of him that he had thought about kissing him too, but it gave Sherlock some kind of hope to hold on to for the possible future.

John cleared his throat suddenly, breaking Sherlock’s train of thought. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked gently. “I know it’s hard, but trust me, if there’s anyone who understands what it’s like to have bad nightmares, it’s me.”

Sherlock looked over at John, who gave him an encouraging smile.

Sherlock had never actually shared the contents of his nightmares with John. He was always afraid to in fear of what John would think of him. But John had a right to know what was making him shout for him in the middle of the night.

Sherlock swallowed hard then took another sip of water. After a pause, he tilted the glass back and finished the rest of it, then fumbled with it in his hands. He cleared his throat and hesitantly began. “Most of them…most of them are the same thing, or close to it.”

John didn’t say anything. He just looked at Sherlock, waiting for him to continue.

“Usually it’s Mary shooting me. Sometimes she’s wearing her black assassin clothing, sometimes she’s in her wedding dress. And sometimes…sometimes she shoots me right in front of you,” Sherlock finished, averting his eyes to the sheets again and avoiding looking at John entirely.

John opened his mouth for a moment, then closed it. He opened it again and paused. “Oh, Sherlock…” he said. “I’m so sorry. For all of this. It’s my fault. It’s always my fault.”

Sherlock whipped his head up and looked at John sternly. “You weren’t the one holding the gun. It was not your fault, John. It was mine, for being an idiot. I tried to be clever and thought Mary would never actually shoot me. But I was wrong. So shut up.”

“But if I hadn’t met her, if I hadn’t married her, she never would have done this to you.”

Sherlock shook his head. “Stop. Mary saved you when I couldn’t. She pulled you out of that dark place that I had put you in after my fake death. It’s not your fault she was actually an ex-assassin. I’m an adrenaline junkie who likes to put myself in dangerous situations, I’m sure I would have found a way to get myself shot by someone eventually. To be honest, I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner.”

John smiled weakly and sighed, running a hand over his face. “How do we always find ourselves in such a mess?”

Sherlock smiled a little in response. “I think it comes with the job description.”

John laughed at that, then took Sherlock’s empty glass from him, standing up and turning towards the door. “Well, try to get some more sleep. I’ll be upstairs if you need anything.”

Sherlock bit his lip and nodded. Just as John was about to reach for the door to close it, Sherlock stopped him. “John?” he said quietly.

John stopped in the doorway and turned. “Yeah, mate?”

“Could you—could you maybe…I mean if it’s not too much trouble…could you stay? Just until I fall back asleep. I’m afraid I won’t be able to otherwise.” He looked down at his hands, his cheeks flushing.

John simply smiled and said, “Of course. Give me a minute.”

A few minutes later, John returned with another full glass of water and his book from the table in the living room. He looked around the room, apparently looking for a chair or other object to sit on.

“Um, I don’t have any chairs in here. You’re going to have to be in the bed with me.” Sherlock blushed again as he said this, even more embarrassed that his cheeks were flushing so much in the first place. It was his idea, after all.

John nodded. “That’s fine.” He sat down on the edge of the bed then swung his legs over and stretched himself out, then took a pillow and adjusted it behind his back into a comfortable position.

Sherlock cautiously lay back down on the bed, adjusting his pillow a little then pulling the blankets and sheets up around him again. After a moment’s hesitation he stretched his arm over to John’s side of the bed and covered his legs with the sheets as well, which made John smile a little. Sherlock could still feel the warmth on his cheeks.

“You good?” John asked after Sherlock was silent for a moment. “Will it bother you if this light is on while I read?”

“No,” Sherlock replied. “And I’m fine. Don’t stay too long, you need sleep too.”

John chuckled. “I’ll stay as long as you want me to, Sherlock.”

Sherlock didn’t know what to say to that, so he simply grumbled in response, closing his eyes and smashing his face further into the pillow to get comfortable.

A few minutes passed and a comfortable silence fell upon the room. Sherlock did actually feel tired for once, and better than that, he felt warm and safe knowing John was right next to him. The only sound that filled the room was the occasional noise of John turning the pages of his book.

About an hour later, Sherlock was completely asleep. He kept adjusting and fidgeting but was inching himself closer and closer to John, whether or not he was aware of it. A few minutes later, Sherlock’s head was almost touching John’s thigh. The blankets had fallen so his bare chest and back were exposed to the cool air, but Sherlock didn’t appear to mind much.

John looked down at Sherlock, a little surprised by his sudden proximity, but he stayed still and continued to read as usual. A minute later, Sherlock had nuzzled his head into John’s lap, his cheek resting on his thigh. John jumped a little at the feeling of a heavy head on his leg and looked down.

For a moment, John didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to wake Sherlock by making him move, but he certainly couldn’t continue reading with the consulting detective’s head in his lap.

After a moment’s hesitation, John sighed and placed the book on the bedside table gently then shifted back into place. He sat there for a moment and his pulse began to quicken as he looked down at Sherlock.

He was an annoying git most of the time, but he was an attractive man, that was for sure. John had noticed before, of course, but chose to ignore those feelings rather than act on them, one because they were best friends and that was weird, and two because John wasn’t gay. Or he thought he wasn’t. He had briefly considered that he may be bisexual, but he wasn’t sure if that was a socially acceptable sexual identity to have or not.

Sherlock was the first man he had ever really found attractive. Sure, he had some incidents in his rugby days at uni, but everyone did. It was a time for experimenting. But Sherlock was the first man he had looked at and honestly thought, _I think I would gladly fuck that beautiful bastard_. He was eternally grateful that Sherlock couldn’t read minds when he thought that, and usually he didn’t have those kinds of thoughts often enough to actually bother him.

He did love Sherlock, he knew he did. It may not be romantic love, but it was some kind of love. He firmly believed they were meant to spend the rest of their lives together in some way. Although he would never admit it to his flatmate, he couldn’t imagine losing him again, not in real life. The agony of the two years without him had been enough pain for a lifetime. John was fairly certain being friends with Sherlock had caused him the most pain and danger he had ever experienced, even more than Afghanistan, yet he couldn’t keep himself away from him. _He really is like a drug_ , John thought.

As he looked down at Sherlock and thought about this, he suddenly moved his hand to his dark curly locks and began to run his fingers through it absentmindedly. He did it slowly and gently, so gentle that Sherlock didn’t even stir at his touch.

John moved his hand to the back of Sherlock’s neck and traced the hair down to the nape of his neck tenderly, so lightly that he would barely feel it. He continued to run his hand down Sherlock’s lean yet strong back muscles, thankful that he was shirtless because of the bandages so he could feel the smooth skin beneath his fingertips. He traced light patterns onto Sherlock’s back and allowed his fingers to dance down towards the waistband of his pajama pants but then stopped at the small of his back.

After a few more minutes, John stopped, placing a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder lightly. He was beginning to feel uncomfortable in this position, and a heavy head on his thigh was not helping.

Quickly but as gently as he could, John pushed Sherlock’s head off of him and moved him to the side, back towards his half of the bed. Before John could stop himself, he moved his pillow next to Sherlock’s head then lay down in the bed completely, facing Sherlock, who was still sound asleep despite being jostled around so much.

John just stared at Sherlock’s sleeping frame, captivated by the movement of his chest up and down and the way his lips were parted slightly as he breathed in and out. The git even made sleeping look graceful.

Slowly John began to feel the sleep pull at his eyes, and he yawned, feeling his eyelids droop more and more as the minutes passed.

Eventually he fell into a deep sleep and didn’t stir until the morning.

When Sherlock woke up, he was disoriented. He felt extremely warm and could feel someone else’s body heat radiating next to him. Blinking and trying to take in his surroundings, Sherlock looked down and froze, forgetting how to breathe for a moment.

John was curled up into his chest, his face almost pressed up against his sternum. Sherlock’s body was curled protectively around John’s and their arms were both wrapped around each other in a tangle of limbs. John’s hand was resting casually on Sherlock’s hipbone, and if Sherlock tilted his head down just a little, he could bury his face in John’s hair if he wanted to. Sherlock stayed still, wanting this moment to last before John woke up and realized what was happening. He exhaled deeply.

He may have exhaled a little too loudly, as John began to stir suddenly and Sherlock kicked himself mentally. Sherlock stayed completely still as John woke up and processed the same things he had a moment before.

Finally John tilted his head upwards and squinted at Sherlock with sleepy eyes. “Good morning,” he said in a raspy voice.

“Morning,” Sherlock said, unable to hold back a smile.

John smiled back then moved his eyes to where his hand was resting on Sherlock’s hip. He automatically moved it then awkwardly patted Sherlock’s upper arm. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Sherlock replied flatly. Things were about to get awkward, fast.

A moment of awkward silence fell and John was finally the one to speak. “So…” he began, disentangling himself from Sherlock and scooting backwards on the bed. He sat up and looked over at Sherlock, who had turned onto his back and put his arm over his eyes, sighing.

“So?” Sherlock said, as John didn’t care to elaborate.

“Was that…was that weird?” John offered, biting his lower lip.

Sherlock moved his arm then sat up slowly, wincing slightly as he did so. He turned to face John. “I don’t know, was it weird for you?”

John thought for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip. “No, actually,” he said, looking at Sherlock. “It was…it was nice…to—to wake up in your arms.” He coughed and looked away, pulling at a loose string in the sheets.

Sherlock grinned. “And I you,” he said, looking at John shyly.

John looked up at Sherlock and smiled. “Good,” he said. “That’s good.”

A moment of silence passed.

“Do you think we could try that again?” Sherlock asked, his face flushing slightly. “Like right now?”

John nodded. “Okay. If you want.”

John then leaned forward and pushed Sherlock back slightly by placing a bit of pressure on his chest. Sherlock obeyed and John shuffled closer to him under the sheets until they were both lying on their sides, facing each other.

“I think that’s the best I’ve slept in weeks,” Sherlock murmured, reaching forward for John’s t-shirt and running his hand down the front of it lightly. John shivered a little at the sensation and shifted closer to Sherlock.

John slowly placed his hand on the side of Sherlock’s ribs, silently asking him with his eyes if it was alright. Sherlock nodded, and John then rested his hand on Sherlock’s lower back and pulled him towards his chest gently.

After a bit of maneuvering and shifting all while adjusting both their bodies and the sheets, they finally were wrapped in each other’s arms once again, John’s face nearly touching Sherlock’s bare chest, Sherlock’s head gently resting on top of John’s, and their arms and legs snaked together so much that neither could tell where one of them started and the other began.

For a few minutes they simply stayed like that, enjoying each other’s warmth and presence. John didn’t know this was a thing he wanted until now. He couldn’t believe they had gone so long without doing something like this.

“John?” Sherlock said finally, breaking the silence.

“Hmm?” John replied, beginning to feel sleepy again.

“There’s one nightmare I didn’t tell you about.”

“Do you want to? It’s okay if you don’t.” John looked up at Sherlock. “You don’t have to tell me everything.”

Sherlock shook his head. “No, I want to. This one is about you. It’s the same thing every time. Do you remember when you got drugged and someone put you in a bonfire?”

John laughed out loud despite himself. “Yeah, I think being almost burned alive is something I’m not ever going to forget.”

Sherlock sighed and shifted John in his arms. “Well the nightmare is basically that on replay. Except I never get there in time. I have to try and save you, over and over again, and each time I’m either too late or you’re dead before I can drag you out in time.”

John fell silent, waiting for Sherlock to continue.

Sherlock swallowed, holding back unexpected tears. “And it’s terrifying…because I’m doing absolutely everything I can to save you but I can’t. I’m powerless and you die and it’s all my fault. That’s the worst nightmare I have.” He sniffled and pulled John closer to him instinctively for comfort.

“Hey, hey, Sherlock, it’s alright. It’s not real, it’s just a nightmare. And you saved me, remember? I’m right here. I wouldn’t be if you hadn’t dove into literal fire to save me.” John tilted his head up to look Sherlock in the eye. He brushed some of the hair out of his face and smiled at him encouragingly. “Thank you, by the way. I don’t think I ever properly thanked you for that.”

Sherlock laughed a little at that. He paused. “Is that…is that what it felt like to watch me jump from St. Bart’s? The helplessness, the pain.”

John nodded against Sherlock’s chest and sighed. “Yes. And I had nightmares for months afterwards, replaying you jumping off that roof, over and over again.”

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock whispered. “I’m so sorry. If I had known…if I had known what it felt like, what it was going to do to you, maybe I wouldn’t have done it.”

John shook his head. “Don’t be ridiculous. Yes, it was painful, and yes I wanted to kill you myself when you came back, but you were doing it to save my life. You just keep doing that, apparently. We should keep score.”

Sherlock laughed. “Nothing compares to how you’ve saved my life, John Watson. You’ve brought me back to life on more than one occasion, shown me how not to be alone, been there when no one else has. I know it’s sappy and so sentimental, but it’s true. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

John smiled, holding back tears of his own now. “And I you,” he murmured in response.

Eventually they fell asleep again in each other’s arms, and when it was approaching mid-day, John finally awoke again. Sherlock was still fast asleep, so much so that he didn’t stir even when John managed to disentangle himself from him. He shuffled off the bed and placed the blankets over Sherlock again, quietly tiptoeing out the room and closing the door behind him.

For the rest of the week, Sherlock slept alone, as if nothing had happened that night. John would sometimes sit with him for a little while when he was trying to get to sleep, and came running at every nightmare as usual, but he didn’t want to linger too long.

He liked sleeping next to Sherlock more than he would care to admit, and it worried him how much he had enjoyed that night with Sherlock. John knew what would inevitably come next if they kept up the routine, and he wasn’t completely sure what his feelings were doing at the moment, let alone if he was ready for something like that with Sherlock of all people. And it scared him even more to try to stop and think about it for too long, too worried about what conclusion he would eventually come to.

John wasn’t afraid to admit that he cared about Sherlock. He would do anything for the man, and Sherlock would do anything for him in return. But how far did that affection go? Did he love Sherlock or was he in love with Sherlock? Every time he caught himself looking at Sherlock differently or blushing when their hands accidentally brushed each other, he mentally kicked himself, not allowing his mind to dwell on such matters.

The more John thought about that fateful night, the more he realized what Sherlock’s true feelings for him might be. It made sense and John was sure that if he thought about it long enough, he would find out the obvious: that Sherlock was in love with him, and had been for quite some time. But John refused to let himself think like that; it was ridiculous and absurd. Sherlock wasn’t like that. He didn’t do relationships.

But what they did that night was not something flatmates did to each other, even the closest flatmates. John was hoping if they just never spoke of the incident, it would all just go away and they could continue with their lives. He just had to keep mentally shaking himself at the memory of waking up in Sherlock’s warm embrace.

Sherlock was disappointed that John didn’t want to continue sleeping in the bed with him each night, but he understood. He knew that John was dealing with enough inner turmoil at the moment with other matters in his life; he didn’t need to add sorting out his feelings for Sherlock into the mix. So Sherlock allowed John to keep as much distance as he liked and didn’t pressure him, giving him all the space and time he needed to think things through.

Except he didn’t account for his nightmares getting bad again. By the end of the following week, Sherlock was actually doing well with sleeping soundly through the night, and he was hoping the worst of the nightmares were over for him. But he was wrong.

In the early hours of Friday morning, around 4am, Sherlock had his worst nightmare, and he had it full force. John was trapped in the bonfire in front of him, dozens of times, as Sherlock attempted to save his friend desperately without success.

After the nightmare had been going on for a while, Sherlock began screaming for John. He thrashed and shouted “John! John! John!” as loud as he could, but was completely unaware that he was even doing it. He was still in the middle of the nightmare when John burst into the room and turned on the light.

As soon as he saw him, John knew exactly what nightmare Sherlock was having, and he immediately ran to his bedside. He didn’t realize Sherlock was still dreaming until he approached the bed and saw that he was still shouting his name without noticing that he had just come into the room.

“Sherlock, it’s okay, it’s okay!” John said, placing an hand on Sherlock’s shoulder and shaking it slightly to try to wake him. Instead Sherlock shoved him off aggressively and continued thrashing and shouting for John.

“Sherlock it’s a nightmare! Wake up, you’re dreaming! It’s not real, it’s not real!”

John finally sat himself on the bed directly in front of Sherlock and took his face in both his hands. He looked into Sherlock’s eyes, which were filled with tears as he continued to yell John’s name desperately, unfocused and still in the dream. “Sherlock, wake up!” John shouted desperately. “I’m right here, wake up! Sherlock! You’re having a nightmare! Please Sherlock, wake up!”

The look of terror in Sherlock’s unseeing eyes, still trapped within his hell of a nightmare, made John forget how to breathe. He had never seen Sherlock like this before, and it was beginning to scare him. He looked so scared and so helpless that John choked back tears of his own. John had to mentally shake himself to calm his own nerves and focus on helping Sherlock.

“Sherlock! Wake up! It’s not real! It’s not real! I’m okay! I’m right here!” he yelled in a slightly panicked voice, forcing his flatmate to look at him, hoping he would eventually see him through the nightmare and wake up from it all.

Finally some of those words managed to reach him somehow and he awoke with a start, a strangled breath and wide eyes bringing him back to the present. He sort of jolted back to reality, jumping slightly and gasping for air as his eyes shifted around the room desperately as he gained consciousness.

After a moment his eyes finally found John and he focused on him intently. Tears ran down his face and he could feel his whole body still shaking from the nightmare. “John,” was all he could manage as he tried to stop gasping for oxygen.

“I’m right here, Sherlock. You’re okay. You were having a nightmare.” John dropped his hands and sat back on his heels, taking a deep breath. “You were scaring me.”

After Sherlock took a few more shaky breaths, he suddenly lunged forward, wrapping his arms around John tightly and letting out a muffled sob into John’s shoulder. John immediately held him just as tight, rubbing his back gently and burying his face in Sherlock’s neck.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you,” he murmured softly into Sherlock’s ear.

Sherlock continued to sniffle and couldn’t stop more tears from falling as he attempted to slow his breathing, focusing on the smell and warmth of John in his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out through his tears. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

John shook his head, still holding Sherlock close. “Don’t be ridiculous. You did save me. I’m right here.”

“But—but—you were burning. And I was too slow. I didn’t make it in time,” Sherlock choked out, letting out another gut-wrenching sob. Now that the tears were flowing freely, he couldn’t stop them.

“Shhh,” John murmured softly, rubbing Sherlock’s back with one hand and stroking the back of his head gently with the other. “Yes you did. That was a nightmare. You actually did save me when it came down to the real thing. I’m right here, Sherlock.”

“I can’t lose you,” Sherlock sobbed, hugging his arms even tighter around John, digging his nails into his back as he buried his face in John’s t-shirt.

“Hey, hey, who said that was going to happen?” John said softly, pulling back a little and tilting Sherlock’s head up to him. “I told you. I’m right here. And I swear to god I am not going anywhere. You are not going to lose me. I promise you that.”

Sherlock nodded then threw his arms around John’s neck, hugging him tightly again. John simply hugged him back just as forcefully, knowing this is all he needed right now.

“I don’t deserve you, John,” Sherlock whispered.

“Don’t say that. Yes you do. I like you just the way you are, annoying smartass and all.”

At that Sherlock let out a tiny laugh, and John smiled a little.

After another moment or two of hugging, Sherlock finally pulled away, sniffling. “I’m sorry,” he said, gesturing to the giant wet spot he had left on John’s his t-shirt from sobbing into his shoulder.

John brushed at it and shrugged. “It’s fine.” He looked at Sherlock for a moment then leaned forward, wiping away the last of his tears with his thumbs. Sherlock bit his lip and looked down at the bed sheets.

Before John knew what he was doing, he leaned forward again and carefully brushed some of Sherlock’s hair back out of his eyes. Sherlock froze at the movement and stayed perfectly still as John then moved his hand to rest on the side of his face. He stroked Sherlock’s cheek lightly with his thumb and just looked at him.

After another moment, John moved himself so close to Sherlock that he was almost sitting in his lap. He took Sherlock’s face in both his hands and looked at him for a moment, not saying anything. He then slowly leaned forward and planted a kiss on Sherlock’s forehead, making Sherlock close his eyes and sigh in content. John then kissed him on one cheek, then the other, then on his nose.

John then hesitated for a moment, inches away from Sherlock’s face. Before, Sherlock had been closing his eyes, but now he opened them and stared back at John. After another second’s hesitation, John closed the space between them and softly pressed his lips to Sherlock’s.

They both melted into the kiss, and John felt Sherlock’s entire body relax and lean forward into his. John moved a hand to the back of Sherlock’s neck and the other to his shoulder, pulling him forward as much as he could. Sherlock moved his lips willingly against John’s and they didn’t pull away until they were forced to take a breath. Sherlock gave John another quick kiss before he pulled away completely, breathing heavily. 

When they pulled away, John exhaled deeply and pressed his forehead to Sherlock’s. Sherlock did the same, sighing and closing his eyes. He then moved his head up and placed a light kiss on John’s forehead.

“Thank you,” he said softly, placing his hands on John’s shoulders.

John smiled then reached out for Sherlock, embracing him again. He kissed the side of Sherlock’s neck gently. “No, thank _you_ ,” he whispered.

Sherlock smiled and pulled away slightly, leaning forward for another kiss.


End file.
